


A Ghost Of Yourself

by cliffhanging



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anorexia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8055058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliffhanging/pseuds/cliffhanging
Summary: McCoy is captured while accompanying a landing party to unknown territory, and is tortured to near insanity. Now he won't even let Kirk touch him. Kirk and Spock are determined to fix their best friend, no matter how far gone he is. ANGST. H/C. TORTURE.[DISCONTINUED]





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The pain is like nothing he has felt before. Not even close to anything he has felt before.

The mental torture is worse than the physical, though not by much.

McCoy sees Jim being ripped to shreds in a reckless attempt to play the hero, Spock losing his brilliant Vulcan mind, going insane.

He sees himself being sucked into the endless vacuum of space...

He sees Joanna being taken away from him forever. And it all seems so _real_.

McCoy can always hear himself screaming during the periods of torture he undergoes, but the noise is distant in his ears, and he is so disoriented that he can hardly feel his own body, he can only see Jim dying, Spock going crazy, space, endless space sucking in around him.

It only gets worse, more sinister, when Jim turns on him, stunning him to the ground, or when Spock backs him into something and presses hot, pale finger tips to his face, entering his mind... He can't stand these ones. He can't stand any of them.

He can vaguely hear them asking him questions, or at least it sounds like, but he can't understand a damn thing they say. It doesn't even sound like a language to him.

During the occasions that they allow him to recuperate from the stress on his mind or body, McCoy lays curled up on his cell floor, staring blankly at the wall, flinching at sounds that he is only imagining. His blue eyes have become unfocused and glassy, so far from their usual sharp awareness.

He doesn't even remember beaming down to this godforsaken planet or being abducted from his landing party, all he can remember, all he can think of are the horrible mind games.

It takes so much out of him, to cling onto his own sanity by the skin of his teeth every breath that he takes. He doesn't even know how long he has been here, but it feels like years when he knows it has only been days.

McCoy knows that his sanity is one thing that he can't allow himself to let go of. He can only wait and hope that this will end soon.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

There are many loud noises. McCoy can make out phaser shots, mostly, because they're the loudest ones. He knows they're only his imagination, and that is partially why he doesn't lift his head from the floor. Everything is sluggish, aside from his racing thoughts, and his eyes are definitely open, but he can hardly make out what's in front of his face. They've been unfocused for so long he can barely remember how to look at something straight.

The noises grow louder, closer. McCoy holds his knees tighter to his chest, and bites his tongue to keep from whimpering. It's all in his head, he repeats to himself.

The sound of his cell door opening can barely be heard over the howling in his mind, and he is hefted from the floor and cradled in strong arms. He doesn't feel safe in them at all. Never have they picked him up before, or held him this close, and he's so afraid by the change in behavior that he begins to shake.

McCoy is being moved, but he hasn't got a clue as to where.

He doesn't want to go through the pain again. He can't. His mind is close to spilling over with frightening false memories of people he cares about, and it's driving him insane, completely insane... He isn't even one hundred percent sure what's true anymore. Is Jim his friend, or his foe? Are Spock's eyes clear and bright with intelligence, or clouded with madness?

What could they possibly do to him now, he wonders as they carry him off. More of the mind games, or will they continue the beating from last time? He hopes for the latter. But why would they have to move him from his tiny cell, where they can corner him?

Aside from that, haven't they realized that McCoy isn't going to give them anything? He doesn't understand it, dammit, he doesn't.

When he's using common sense, McCoy knows that this torture could go on forever until they get whatever it is that they want.

The one thing he'd forced himself to remember through this was that Jim would save him, but McCoy is beginning to feel like he's losing himself in his own mind. He can't wait for Jim anymore. Jim's not coming. So, he starts begging.

...

Kirk watches from an unoccupied corner in Sickbay as McCoy is placed down onto a biobed. The doctor is shivering so violently it looks like he is being racked with convulsions, he is drenched in cold sweat, and his hazy eyes are flicking this way and that. He looks as if he doesn't recognize where he is. Two nurses hold him down firmly by his upper arms and speak reassuring words as he begins to struggle, while M'Benga prepares a hypo.

As frantic as they are, McCoy's movements are sloppy and there is next to no power behind them. He thrashes, uselessly, tossing his head to the side, limbs jerking, causing more blood to seep from them. High pitched, drawn out whimpers fall from his mouth, along with pleads for mercy. His voice is raspy and nearly as weak as his attempts at escaping the nurses.

The smells of blood, sweat, and general uncleanliness overpower Kirk's senses. The captain had been asked to leave earlier, but firmly refused to, not wanting to take his eyes off of McCoy for a second. Not after he'd only just gotten him back.

McCoy was almost unrecognizable under the mass of injuries marring his skin, his usually sharp, focused mind now evidently so fogged with agony and fear that he has not even yet realized where he is, let alone that he's been rescued.

M'Benga shoots the hypo containing a sedative into McCoy's upper arm, and after a few moments more of writhing McCoy falls silent, unconscious. M'Benga lets out a small, shaky sigh, as if he'd been holding his breath.

Suddenly Jim can hardly watch this, but he forces himself to. It's his fault that McCoy is in this state, and it's his responsibility to make sure he ends up alright. He will not lose Bones. He can't lose him. Not like this.

The fact that he doesn't know what happened to McCoy down on that planet makes Kirk almost sick to his stomach with the possibilities. He has witnessed and suffered many horrible things, but seeing McCoy like this is downright disturbing. It's obvious that some sort of life forms did this to the doctor, judging by his begging, as if he knew someone was there with an intention to hurt him.

Remembering the defeated way McCoy had said "Please, not again" sent a shiver down Kirk's spine.

The biofunction monitor above McCoy's head is making urgent noises as one of the nurses run a medical scanner over the doctor's still body, often glancing up at the readings on the screen. He can't get a clear sight of McCoy in the middle of the steady, organized movements of the nurses, and after a few moments he gives up trying.

The almost calm voice of M'Benga is a lilt of commands humming in the captain's subconscious as his mind begins to tune everything out except for the blood pounding in his head and the constant question will Bones be okay? Kirk is gratified that he can entrust his injured friend to the other doctor, especially while anxiety is attacking his nerves.

Kirk slowly but steadily grows exhausted with worry as the minutes turn into hours that feel like days, and it seems as if this whole ordeal will never end. He can only imagine how the medical staff must feel, working over someone who is usually giving them the orders.

Kirk waits.

...

M'Benga, now the acting CMO, approaches Kirk, who has taken a seat to his refuge in the corner. Kirk straightens, rising to his feet in a fluid motion, despite his exhaustion. He looks intently at M'Benga, trying to read his facial expression.

"Well, Doctor? Will he be alright?" he asks insistently.

M'Benga glances behind himself, over at McCoy, who is now alone on the biobed, utterly immobile except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. "He'll be okay now. You can sit with him now, if you would like," he says tiredly. "Just be careful around the equipment and him, Captain."

Kirk's heart soars, and he nods and smiles wanly, clapping M'Benga's shoulder in a thankful gesture, before heading over to McCoy, chair in tow.

He seats himself on McCoy's left side, where less medical instruments are standing by, and takes the unconscious doctor's hand tenderly. He notices that the bones of McCoy's hands are much more defined- unhealthily so. They were no longer broken and purple, like they'd been when Kirk had found him.

"Bones," he says softly, but the sentence trails off. He pauses, then tries again. "Bones, you... you have no idea how much you scared me back there."

McCoy remains unresponsive.

Kirk turns to comforting himself in the solid feel of the doctors fingers, laying them gently as possible in his open palm, then curling his fingers until they are only just touching McCoy's. He promises to himself that he will not leave his friend's side tonight. He settles in to sleep, McCoy's hand still in his own.

...

Kirk wakes to someone gently calling his name. He is slumped over, head resting on a folded arm, his other hand still clutching McCoy's securely even in sleep. A dull ache pulses in his back and shoulders.

Kirk sits up slowly, blinking at his first officer, who gradually swims into his vision. "Oh, h'llo Spock," he slurs, still half asleep. He rubs at his eyes using the hand that is not holding McCoy's, then runs it wearily down his face. Kirk glances down at the doctor. He is still as dead to the world as the previous night, but Kirk notices his breathing has evened out ever so slightly.

"Good morning, Captain," Spock replies politely. "You appeared uncomfortable, it seemed that I should rouse you."

Kirk smiles warmly, feeling a spark a fondness towards his first officer. "I suppose you're right. My back does feel sort of stiff..."

Spock nods sagely, making Kirk want to smile a little wider, but he sobers as Spock retrieves a chair and sits himself down on McCoy's right, across from Jim, being careful around the equipment that is ready to help the sedated CMO if needed.

"Spock, what are you doing?" Kirk asks, pausing in the middle of stretching to eye the Vulcan quizzically.

Spock raises a slanted eyebrow. "I am accompanying you," he says, as if it should be quite obvious.

Kirk frowns. "Aren't we on shift by now? Is someone covering for us?"

Spock continues to stare at Kirk, his face neutral as ever except for that shinning in his dark eyes. "Captain, it is likely that we have been 'covered for' by now."

Kirk feels his his own eyebrows shoot up. "Spock, that's oddly unethical of you," he observes, slightly surprised at his first officer's behavior. Spock appears unfazed, and continues as if his captain had not just told him, albeit indirectly, that he isn't doing his job properly.

"Captain, I have taken care of it. We may remain here with Doctor McCoy. Unless you would rather we returned-"

"No," Kirk interrupts, knowing it's not quite right to forfeit his shift but not changing his mind for a moment. "I'll stay with Bones."

Spock raises his eyebrows slightly and nods again. "I've come in this morning to pay a visit to the good doctor," he changes the subject smoothly. His gaze softens as his eyes flick down to McCoy. "How is he coping, Jim?"

Kirk sighs, losing his smile, but is soothed by the rare use of his first name, and begins stroking the unconscious doctor's hand with his thumb. "He's... Well, he's safe now. And that's all I need to know."

Spock doesn't reply, and continues to look down at McCoy, now placing one hand gingerly over the doctor's bare forearm, which surprises Kirk. He's careful not to show it, not wanting to make Spock self conscious. His usually calculating dark eyes speak volumes of thankfulness and relief now, at least to Kirk they do. He can see the hidden emotions.

The two of them sit together in a sort of grieving silence, and Kirk listens to McCoy's breathing.

...

Over the course of a week, Kirk endures McCoy's screaming fits.

The night it had started, Kirk had been sleeping soundly next to McCoy, and the tortured noises coming from the doctor's mouth had woken him with a violent start, and drew the attention of every medical staff member on shift. Kirk had sat holding McCoy's hand tightly and waited for it to stop, waited for McCoy's quick, scratchy breaths to become slower, waited for McCoy's fingers and toes to stop curling in pain that was only being imagined.

Every time he tried to wake McCoy up, and get him to realize that he was no longer down on that savage planet, the doctor would only give the same unnerving behavior as when they first retrieved him; staring vacantly, trembling vigorously.

Kirk hates the things that did this. He'd thought McCoy was at peace now on the Enterprise, but even he can't protect the doctor from his own mind.

The captain had managed to pay visits to his CMO quite often in the past week, but they were becoming less and less frequent. He could not neglect his duty as Captain of the Enterprise forever, after all. He did have a job to do.

However, McCoy's nightmares are only becoming more frequent. His body had managed to heal, besides the considerable loss of weight, but it seemed his mental state wasn't so well off. He's still lost in his own world, and there's nothing Kirk can do about it.

Kirk feels more helpless than ever, sitting back and watching as one of his best friends is unendingly submerged in dark memories in the form of nightmares, not able to resurface.

The captain's heart gives a dull, aching throb. The same ache it has been feeling all week.

"Chapel to bridge."

Kirk starts out of his dark shrouded thoughts. He blinks, almost surprised to find himself seated in the command chair on the bridge where he has been for the past few hours.

After a moment, he covers up his bewilderment with a sheepish smile at Sulu, who is looking over his shoulder at his captain from where he's sitting at his console, worry written plainly on his face.

Kirk quickly looks away, opening communication. "Kirk here. What is it?"

His gut twists with an uncomfortable foreboding as his thoughts immediately fly to McCoy.

"Captain, it's Leonard." Chapel's voice is just short of jubilant, rather the opposite of what Kirk had been expecting.

He sits forward in his seat, his heart beginning to pound. "Yes, what is it?" he asks excitedly, barely noticing how the entire bridge seems to quiet down, excluding the constant hum of technology. Spock is still facing his station, but also listening with rapt attention.

"Well, he's... He's awake and he's coherent. Has been for the past little while. I've gotten him to sit up, but... no walking."

Kirk's heart leaps. Bones is awake and alert! Kirk can talk to him now, can finally ask everything that he has been dying to ask. And most importantly, he can see his friend whole and healthy again.

"Tell him I'll be right down," he says with finality. He closes the communication before Chapel can protest.

"Mister Spock, you've got the con," he appoints, all but leaping up from his chair. He is entering the turbolift, before anyone on the bridge can say a word, heading straight for Sickbay.

As the doors slide closed, Spock is tempted to go with him, but knows that he should give this time to just the two of them, and so gets up and heads over to the command chair after an inhumanly short moment of contemplation.

...

Kirk is practically bouncing with excitement by the time he reaches the medical bay, but as he enters he is abruptly halted in his tracks by nurse Chapel.

"Captain," She says firmly, her tone demanding Kirk's attention. Kirk pulls his eager, searching gaze away from the next room, where the biobeds, one occupied by McCoy, are enticingly situated.

He looks down at Chapel inquiringly.

"Captain, I know I've just told you this, but I have to warn you," Chapel lowers her voice to a near-whisper, and Kirk leans forward a little to hear her better. "Leonard may be a little... sensitive." The nurse looks down for a moment before re-locking her gaze with Kirk's.

"He's still pretty- no, make that extremely weak, and he may not be able to talk much. Just, be gentle, and don't try to push him."

Kirk edges away from her, nodding a little impatiently. "Yes, of course. Were you not expecting that?"

"I know you'll be careful with him, captain, but he is very sensitive right now. Treat him like a lady."

Kirk snorts humorlessly, turning and entering the medical bay, leaving Chapel behind in the office looking after him, her lips tight. Kirk's hazel eyes scan the room searchingly, until they find a pair of light blue ones looking back at him in momentary alarm.

Bones.

The doctor is propped up at a forty-five degree angle, looking quite comfortable, though Kirk notices straight away how pale and thin he still is.

"Jim!" McCoy says enthusiastically, but quietly at the same time, a small, uncertain smile touching his lips. The sight of McCoy's quirked lips sends a happy jolt through Kirk's heart.

Before either of them realize it, Kirk is next to the biobed hugging the doctor gently but firmly, almost protectively. No, it isn't quite his best move in that situation, but right then Kirk feels such a strong relief and affection for the doctor that he can't stop himself.

Kirk doesn't immediately notice the CMO go rigid with terror in his grasp, and pulls away from him with an oblivious smile. McCoy smiles weakly back.

Feeling how tense McCoy's shoulders are under his palms, Kirk pulls his hands away and takes a half step back, worried that he'd hurt him. "Sorry," he quickly apologizes, lowering his hands to his sides.

McCoy shakes his head, though Kirk can still see the stiffness in his shoulders. "S'okay, Jim."

Kirk wants to ask McCoy so many questions, how was he feeling, could he remember anything, what happened down there, but he manages to restrain himself.

"You look a lot better, Bones," He says in a low voice, for he is reluctant to break the calm serenity of the bay and, seemingly, of the doctor himself. It's so quiet compared to before, when McCoy's howling would fill the room for hours.

"I feel a lot better, too," McCoy chuckles softly, the sound scratchy in his throat.

"Have they managed to reverse all the damage?" Kirk questions, his eyes scanning over McCoy's slightly gaunt form, not finding any visible scarring.

"Yeah, all the damage is gone, nothin' permanent," McCoy reassures, but suddenly he can't meet his captain's eyes. "Just been a bit weak. I'll be back on my feet in a couple days, no doubt."

Kirk laughs with nervous relief, not seeming to mind the disconnection of their gazes. McCoy's eyes had looked oddly glassy, like he wasn't really seeing what was in front of him. "That's wonderful, Bones. I was so worried about... whether I'd ever see you again."

Kirk feels his throat start to close a little, and he is the one to look away now, embarrassed. If he were completely honest, he had never been more afraid for Bones in his life. Indeed, worried is a major understatement.

McCoy is silent for a moment, then reaches over and gently, almost hesitantly and using only his fingertips, pats Kirk's arm, which is hanging limply at his side.

"Well, there's no need to worry yourself silly anymore, which I'm sure you've been doing. I'm right here," He says fondly, trying to catch Kirk's eye again. "Why don't you take a seat, if you're gonna stay a little while?"

Kirk nods slowly, wandering over to a visitors' chair and pulling it up to the biobed, then all but falling into it, resting his forearms on the edge.

"Do you... remember anything?" Kirk asks, trying to be nonchalant and sure that he is failing miserably.

McCoy's lips tighten, but other than that he simply tilts his head. "What d'you mean by that, Jim?"

"I mean, do you... do you remember waking up in Sickbay, before now? At all?"

McCoy's brows furrow, and he seems genuinely confused now as he gives a small shake of his head. "No, not at all... Did I?"

Kirk swallows. "Yes, a few- a few times. You were mostly, er, out of it."

McCoy nods slowly. "Okay."

"Bones, I..." He tries to say something, anything, to lighten this heavy feeling in his heart, but can't think of a single proper thing to say. His chest is only getting tighter as the seconds go by.

"What is it, Jim?" McCoy asks, sounding slightly concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?" Kirk winces as he hears his voice shake, and suddenly, it triggers something in him. Once the first tear falls, it's near impossible stop the next ones following, and his chest suddenly feels light as he releases his pent up emotions from the past few days.

The captain puts his head in his hands and cries noiselessly for a long time, as McCoy lays there and watches him, clearly at a loss for what to do. Kirk thinks how he should be the one comforting McCoy, and guilt begins to mingle with the hurricane of feelings.

McCoy is the one who was missing for nearly seven days. McCoy is the one who has been sliced into, burnt, beaten; savagely tormented, within that time. God knows what else, because McCoy has spoken nothing of his experience, for obvious reasons; being completely unaware of his surroundings for a full week.

McCoy is the victim here.

Yet Kirk is too filled with raw, intense emotion to fix this at the moment. He continues to silently cry, letting all his stress ebb away, for what feels like an eternity instead of the actual short time that it was.

He is so devastatingly relieved that McCoy is alright now. He'll never let this happen to his friend again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers, I wrote this story in 2013 and am attempting to see how it goes on ao3. Hope there are some TOS fans over here :) This fic is very near and dear to my heart.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

McCoy was still struggling to calm his heart, ramming against his rib cage, as Jim finally left him alone in the medical bay.

The captain had been there for a while, at first crying, which had indeed thrown McCoy off, then just resting his hand on the doctor's wrist and stroking with his thumb, honestly reassuring himself more than he was reassuring McCoy. They hadn't really talked, not that McCoy had the energy for more than a few sentences. Much of time, McCoy had watched Jim's hand on his arm, expecting it to tighten cruelly until the doctor's wrist would snap. It never had, but McCoy had remained on edge.

As soon as his friend was out the door with a promise to visit again, McCoy could finally allow the shivering that he was concealing to rock him, and he closed his eyes to try and steady himself, in vain.

"Damnit," he murmured, feeling the urge to rub at his upper arms. They ached. They seemed brittle, like even a light squeeze could break them in two.

McCoy felt weak, and as if he had no control over his body. He wanted Jim to come back, but at the same time, he mostly really didn't. It was much too confusing. An equally pressing matter; where was Spock? Which brought round the inevitable next question, was he even sane?

He wanted to see Spock, just get a good look at him, but again at the same time he really didn't want to, nor did he trust any of them to not hurt him, and he knew it was wrong, but it was like a large part of his brain was being controlled for him. Purely by the horrific memories that are burnt deeply and what he believed to be permanently, into the files of his hippocampus.

McCoy shook harder, his eyes clenching shut. He felt surrounded. Bad recollections were coming too close to the surface, becoming stronger, more distinct. He was thinking too hard about this, it was going to throw him over the edge again. He was already standing so perilously close.

"Leonard?" Christine's worried voice came from the door. McCoy forced his eyes open again, fought to keep them focused on her as she stood there, wringing her hands like she wanted to go over and help him somehow, some way.

The nurse forced a small smile at him, looked him up and down with a clinical eye. "You feeling okay?" she asked, still remaining hesitantly by the door. "Should I get something to help your sleep?" McCoy could see through her casual act, even in his drifting state. She was keeping a very close eye on him.

He shook his head, even that simple action tiring him. He didn't want anything injected into him. What he wanted was to stay focused and clear headed. Today marked the first time for him in few knew how long, and no way was he giving it up that easily.

"No, m'fine. Bu'thanks, Christine." He frowned slightly, still frustrated with how slow and slurred his voice was.

The nurse sighed softly, a long steadying breath, then crossed her arms. "...Do you think you're ready to try eating now?"

McCoy looked away, keeping his attention fixed generally on the ceiling, feigning an intense interest in it. "No, not feelin' it quite yet," he replied a little sheepishly, rubbing his fingertips along his palms, feeling the intense need to fidget.

"You really need to try and eat sometime soon," her voice went quiet, "You know how much... weight you've lost."

"I know, n' I'll eat when'm ready." McCoy held back most of the snark that he wanted to put into his tone, telling himself that she was only caring for him, and he was being stubborn as ever. He just hated it when she reminded him of.. that. But no way was he going to tell her or anyone about his state of mind right then. He needed to take care of it on his own. They would lock him up if they knew, they'd think he was crazy.

As Christine eventually nodded and left him to himself, McCoy took the time to look around the room in idle wonder. His vision was still a little blurry around the edges, and he practically went cross eyed when he tried to focus on any certain thing, but at least he could actually see what was in front of him.

It felt a little odd to take in so much at once, but he drank it all in anyway, like a feast for his eyes, as he'd been doing before Jim had arrived.

After a while of re-memorizing every inch of the room, McCoy's attempts at distracting himself were slowly stuttering to a halt. He didn't want to be left alone with his mind, he needed something to keep his mind off of... well. He really didn't want the shaking to come back, and he knew that it would if he so much as peeked into his memories.

He focused on lifting one leg off of the biobed, but could barely do that. Both legs began to shake just from the effort of trying, and a thin sheen on sweat coated the doctor's forehead.

It scared him. The fact that he could barely move. He was exhausted from so many physical and mental beatings. He could feel himself quickly slipping, but clung desperately to consciousness, terrified of what lay just on the other side.

He felt lost in his own body and mind, frantically seeking a safe corner to go to, but instead having all the places he once thought secure already occupied with vivid images, painful emotions, agony, agony, agony.

Lost. That was the worst feeling, the one that crushed him the hardest.

He didn't want to sleep, he truly didn't, but his eyelids were so damn heavy, and he could only lay there placidly as his vision was slowly swallowed up by blackness, and consciousness slipped through his fingers once again.

Kirk doesn't return to his post, as he knows he should. He can't bear the thought of sitting there and carrying on as if nothing is going on. Instead, he walks mindlessly, needing the time to settle down and just think.

The captain slowly strolls along the deck of sickbay, hardly aware of his surroundings as he clasps his hands behind his back, trying to sort out his conflicted emotions.

McCoy had looked so much better than the last time he'd seen him, but naturally he still had a ton of improving to do. He'd seemed so fragile and out of reality, but Kirk hadn't been able to bring himself to say anything. He hadn't wanted to start an argument between them. Besides, being slightly out of it was more lucid than McCoy had ever been for the past week, and Kirk is deeply grateful for that.

He also can't help but worry, though.

When would McCoy be walking again? When would he be able to properly hold a medical tool in his hand again, let alone perform complex surgery, if any surgery? Kirk had seen McCoy's hands shaking slightly, small spasmodic twitches in his fingers. And he'd looked so frail. The doctor was already rather thin on his own, but his entire body had looked easily breakable.

Kirk's brow creases, and he clenches his hands together a little tighter, regretting not asking Chapel for details on McCoy's health status. He decides he should probably find out more tomorrow, as much a he can, but for now he'll let her relax and deal with making McCoy as comfortable as she can have him.

Bones is strong. Kirk knows that for certain. He's tougher to crack than anyone, and stubborn as all hell. Kirk trusts the doctor to get stronger, get better, get back to fretting over his captain and arguing with Spock and bouncing on his toes in that agitated way of his and get back to being the best CMO Kirk's ever known.

Kirk gives a slight smile. Sickbay seemed so lifeless and lost without McCoy there leading the way. That man's the heart and soul of the medical staff, the fire that brings them all to life.

He was gone for what felt like ages, but he's here and starting to improve and recover, and Kirk can't wait to have him back.

He heads to his quarters now, a little more at peace with himself.

McCoy jolts awake to a soft, gentle hand shaking his shoulder. He blinks in disorientation, his breathing heavy and his whole frame quaking. Cold sweat and goosebumps have risen on what felt like every inch of his body, prickling uncomfortably.

The doctor inhales sharply, reaching up and covering his hands with his face. That dream, it had felt so real, the consuming agony of open wounds being burned still skittering along the surface of his skin, the voices of those creatures still a whisper in his ears, along with the sizzling of his own flesh burning, the cracking of his own bones...

"Leonard?" Christine's voice is a little far away.

McCoy digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, letting out a soft groan. "God," he mutters, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, causing his heart to slam against his rib cage. "Oh, god..."

Christine slips her hand against McCoy's chest, feeling the painful hammering of McCoy's heart.

"Hey, you're okay, you've got to calm down," she urges, rubbing little circles through the fabric of his shirt, wanting to make him feel better.

"M'okay, just stop," McCoy struggles to growl at the nurse, pushing her hand off of him, eyes still tightly clenched shut. He's hardly strong enough to budge her arm, she simply lets him guide it away, watching him worriedly.

McCoy takes a slow, deep breath, his own arms falling limply to his sides, fingers curling. He lets out a soft sigh, then opens his eyes. His vision is hazy, his eyes burn. Another memory courses through him, of when they'd pour that itching, white hot substance into his eyes, and he wouldn't be able to see for hours, and god it would hurt.

"M'okay," he repeats again in whisper, but he's not okay, and none of this is ever going to be okay. The darkness clouding his every thought has been intensified, so that it pushes just beneath his skin, and he's trying desperately not to scream out for help, focusing on smoothing out his features.

"You were tossing around in your sleep," Christine explains hesitantly, though of course McCoy had already guessed why she's woken him.

McCoy turns his head in her general direction, but all he sees is a blotch of blue and blond. "Jus'a bad dream," he assures her, what little energy he'd had completely spent from the thrashing he'd done. His words are annoyingly jumbled together again, no matter how hard he tries to speak them separately.

"That's what I assumed," Christine says with a sigh, reaching up and placing her hand gently over McCoy's shoulder. "You're alright now?"

"S'what I said." McCoy just wants her to leave now, so he can curl up and cry.

Chapel smiles down at Leonard's tired face. She gives his shoulder a light squeeze before releasing him, and taking a step back. "Buzz if you need anything."

Leonard heaves a long sigh. "Yeah."

Chapel wants to ask him again about his hunger, but instead turns and leaves him alone, knowing she'll get nowhere with that, and he'll eat when he's ready, as he said.

"M'Benga, good morning!" Jim chirps happily as he steps into the office on Sickbay, Spock following right on his heel, hands clasped behind his back.

M'Benga immediately turns his attention to the captain and commander, a half-hearted smile ghosting across his lips. "Good morning Captain, Commander."

Jim had been in high spirits for the past few days. McCoy's recovery was going well, he was regaining his strength, and could sit up, move around, and even take some steps on his own, although his walking still wasn't straight or solid as it should be. His speech was more fluent, and his attention span was longer. Jim had made sure that he knew about every little improvement made, and had also passed on the information to Spock, who would simply nod, but the captain could tell his first officer was quite as happy as he was.

They hadn't seen much of McCoy, at least not awake, because of all the sleeping that he was supposed to be doing.

"How's Bones been doing? You're fattening him up, I hope?" Jim asks jokingly, stepping up so he is straight across from the doctor.

M'Benga's smile vanishes at the comment, and he knits his fingers together on the desk. "As best we can," he assures, looking down at his hands and twiddling them absently.

Jim stares down at him. "What d'you mean by that?" he asks, finding the wording slightly... off.

Spock takes a step forward now as well, head tilting ever so slightly. "Yes, doctor, what is it that you mean?"

"He has been eating, hasn't he?" Jim adds, an accusing look on his face.

"That's... a personal matter, Captain, I'm afraid I can't just disclose the information." M'Benga shrinks a little. McCoy hadn't wanted this to get out, especially not to Kirk and Spock, he could tell, but it seems that nothing can be hidden from the pair when it comes to their closest friend.

"Of course you can tell us! He's our friend, we want to know what's wrong with him!" Jim snaps, slamming an open palm down on the desk, making M'Benga wince, but at the moment he doesn't care.

"He's my friend too, captain."

Spock takes a step forward, sensing the tension in the air. "Captain," he warns, slightly raising his eyebrows when Jim glances back at him. Kirk heaves a sigh, sliding his hand off the desk.

"He's getting so much better. I just want to make sure it stays that way," Jim says in a much softer voice, and M'Benga looks back up into pleading hazel eyes.

"I can assure you he's getting everything he needs to fully recover," M'Benga informs the two of them hesitantly, hating to anger his captain, but hating even more that he's taking away more of McCoy's privacy. "he's just not had the strength to eat much, but he will be eating full meals again, we're making certain of it, easing him into it." He smartly doesn't mention how they have to feed McCoy artificially.

Kirk and Spock glance at each other, in that way that makes it seem like they're speaking with their eyes, and M'Benga has no clue what's going through their minds.

"Alright, I trust you with that," Jim says after a long pause, looking back to M'Benga. "I trust you with him. I just wish that I'd been told about this. Can we see him, at any rate?"

"He might still be sleeping right now," M'Benga replies, "but you can."

"That's fine. Come on, Spock."

Spock simply nods, and the two leave M'Benga on his own. With a small sigh, the acting CMO gets back to his work, praying to whatever's out there that they don't press McCoy on anything else.

McCoy is just waking up when he notices the two blurry figures standing over to his left, just entering the room. He plasters on a weak smile when he realizes who the figures are.

"Jim, Spock," he acknowledges, sitting up a little straighter, at least as straight as he can with the angle he's propped up at. "What're you doing here so early?" The doctor shoots a quick, wary glance over Jim's shoulder at Spock, hoping neither of them noticed as he realizes what he just did.

"Just checking up on you," Jim says matter-of-factly, resting his fingers along the edge of the biobed grinning down at his CMO. McCoy can feel himself instinctively tense up and away from his friend's wide hand, but he continues to smile back up at Jim, trying to convince himself it's okay. It's not really working. He can only be thankful that Spock is keeping some distance.

"Well, if you two want the whole damn report, which I know you do, I should probably be back to work in another week's time," he says with what he hopes is a light, happy tone, "although I've been assigned some serious bed rest."

"You need it," Jim insists, shaking his head a little disapprovingly, "and don't go over exerting yourself when no one's looking. God knows you're more stubborn than even Spock is. You were extremely weak for the last two weeks."

McCoy catches Spock rolling his eyes at Jim's remark on the Vulcan, and gives a small chuckle, amused, though still slightly on edge with both of the stars of his worst nightmares in the room. "You can count on that," he agrees, hoping to keep up a friendly banter, not wanting to get back to the topic of his own health, "but I promise I won't do anything stupid. God knows that's your job."

"Pff." Jim waves the hand that's resting on the biobed dismissively, and McCoy's grateful for the distancing as Jim drops it to his side, though the movement makes him wince. He suddenly has to cover a yawn with his hand, and feels two pairs of eyes scrutinizing him.

"Did we wake you, Bones?" Jim asks, to which McCoy gives a feeble shrug.

"I've been sleeping almost all day..."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Is the extended sleep not what is aiding in your recovery?"

McCoy gives a nervous smile, making eye contact with those dark orbs of Spock's and suppressing a small shiver. "No need to get all snide on me, Spock."

"Vulcans are not-"

"Yeah yeah, save it for someone who cares," McCoy interrupts on instinct with a slight roll of his light blue eyes. Suddenly he laces his fingers together, twisting them anxiously and glancing over at Kirk. Spock notices the reaction, slightly puzzled by it, but of course not showing the emotion.

Jim looks between the two of them, an amused and contented smile on his face, oblivious to the distress that they're both expertly hiding. "Well, we'd better leave Bones to his beauty sleep, don't want you two getting each other all worked up," he announces, clapping his hands together in a sudden motion that makes McCoy stifle what would've been a violent start.

"See you later," the captain calls over his shoulder as he heads out the door.

"Until another time, doctor," Spock says in farewell, with one final, assessing gaze. McCoy looks back, feeling his heart begin to pound.

Then the two of them are gone. McCoy closes his eyes and allows himself to tremble, a choked sob crawling up his throat.

He wants to get out of here as soon as possible, so he can get away from them. It's what has been motivating him every day to sleep for long hours in nightmares and do his painful routine walks, to get stronger. He even tried eating at one point, but nearly threw up after the first swallow.

Damn it, he's trying. If only they knew what they're doing to him. Then maybe they'd stay away for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly really hesitating to post the rest of the fic here, just because this is my baby and I'm protective of her, lol. But here's another///


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 4**

McCoy is sitting quite stiffly in his seat. Kirk notices this when the two of them are settled into the Galley with full meals set in front of them. The captain is a constant ray of happiness, a grin always in place on his lips that he can't seem to get rid of. He takes a jab at the colorful food in front of him with a fork, but is reluctant to fill his mouth, as he has an inestimable amount of questions for McCoy, and some are already sitting eagerly on his tongue.

"So, you say you've been quite busy with recovering? What have you been doing all this time?" he asks, looking up to flash his ever present grin to the doctor, expecting a sarcastic reply. But McCoy isn't looking at him. He is staring down at his own tray of food with a mildly disgusted expression on his face. Kirk tilts his head, brows furrowing, but doesn't question it aloud. "Bones?"

McCoy gives a little start, glancing up to Kirk again and, quickly, smiling a feeble smile. "Oh, um, what was the question? Sorry."

"...How has your recovery been going?" Kirk asks in the stead of his first question, placing the food on his tongue at last and chewing absently. He is quite hungry.

"Oh. Well, good, I'd say. I still prob'ly couldn't take on a tribble in a fight, y'know, but at least I'm walking." McCoy looks away immediately after he is done talking, picking at the skin on his fingers. He is rather fidgety, but that is usually a normal thing for Bones. What concerns Kirk the most is how uncomfortable the doctor seems to be in his presence. He is also continuing to ignore the food in front of him, even though he is obviously in need of a good meal.

In fact, now that Kirk is getting a proper eyeful of him, he notices how McCoy's collar bones and shoulder blades seem to protrude awkwardly from under his uniform shirt. As for the rest of his appearance, well...

Kirk swallows what he is chewing, but it just feels like an unpleasant lump sliding down his throat. McCoy looks worse than his last few days in sickbay. At least then he hadn't looked so pale and skeletal. He almost looks as bad as he did when he'd first been pulled from the cruel grip of the unnamed planet they are currently orbiting. Subtracting, of course, the gruesome injuries he had covering every inch of his body.

Kirk pokes at a piece of food between his teeth with his tongue, keeping his gaze steady on McCoy's face, trying to read him; not an easy feat. The doctor, besides looking frail, also looks exhausted, his eyes haunted with something he is keeping from his friend. After a long period of silence, McCoy slowly looks up from his fidgeting hands and meets Kirk's eyes.

"Bones, are you going to eat?" As Kirk asks this, he is reminded of a scene only days prior, in where he had confronted Doctor M'Benga about McCoy's eating habits... or lack thereof. His stomach begins to twist uncomfortably as he watches McCoy fight to keep a neutral expression.

"Uh, I... ate. Already."

Kirk slowly raises an eyebrow, trying to appear more nonchalant than he felt, not wanting to make the doctor withdraw into himself. "I see. And when was that?"

"Earlier."

"Bones..."

"What? Do you gotta baby me, Jim? I'm a damn doctor, I know how to take care of myself." McCoy's shoulders tense, and he stiffens even further in his seat.

Kirk sighs, dropping his utensil gracelessly onto the table. "You always have been a terrible patient. A wonderful doctor, but a terrible patient."

McCoy shoots Kirk a glare that would've been frightening if he didn't look so fragile. The doctor's hands are clenched into fists on the table, on either side of his untouched food tray. He glares for a moment longer, before what little heat is behind the stare evaporates completely, and he looks back down.

"I know you've been busy with trying to get back into the swing of things around here, but you need to actually take care of yourself. And I know you can, but you aren't. Eat something. For me."

McCoy clenches his teeth together, turning a little paler. His heart jolts as the familiar words 'for me' are spoken, the same thing Christine said...

"Doctor," Kirk says in a much firmer voice. He doesn't want to have to play the Captain card, but he can't and won't let whatever this is go on much longer without doing something. "Don't be stubborn. Just this once."

He reaches out and places his hand tenderly over McCoy's balled up fist. Immediately, McCoy tenses under the touch, but still he refuses to look up. Kirk can feel that his hands are beginning to shake as well.

"Why are you acting like this?" Kirk lets desperation seep into his voice, hoping that maybe McCoy will open up a little if he hears it. Unfortunately, it does not have the desired effect.

McCoy rips his hand away from under Kirk's, and he is now as stiff as a statue. He is biting hard on the inside of his lower lip, trying to stop it from trembling, but Kirk can still see the movement.

The captain watches in silence as McCoy pushes himself to a stand, using his hands on the table for leverage, and for the first time he looks up and into Kirk's eyes.

"If you really wanna see me getting better, then do this for me. Stay away from me, Jim."

And with that, the doctor turns on his heel and speedwalks out of the galley, not once pausing or looking back. Kirk is frozen in place for a few moments, staring after his friend in open shock. Then, he shoots to his feet and around the table, chasing after McCoy.

Hurt and anger are flaring equally hot in his chest. All thoughts have fled his mind except for getting to McCoy, who is just rounding the corner at the end of the hall, not walking much slower than he had when leaving the galley.

Kirk opens his mouth to shout 'Bones!' but a second later he thinks better of it. That would only alert McCoy to the fact that he is being chased down by his seething and highly confused captain.

Instead, he switches gears, and is soon rounding the same corner at warp speed. He catches McCoy by his elbow and pulls him sideways, into the wall. McCoy lets out a startled yelp, his eyes wide as saucers as they focus on Kirk's own narrowed ones.

Before McCoy can pull away, Kirk grabs onto both of his bony shoulders and pushes him around until his back is pressed hard into the wall, not enough to hurt- of course not, -but enough to effectively keep the doctor there.

"Stop running from this situation!" Kirk shouts into his face. He pauses to take deep, calming breaths. McCoy's breathing is also heavy. He isn't struggling at all in Kirk's tight grip. In fact, Kirk can feel him trembling. They both stand facing each other, silent except for their breathing, which, in Kirk's case, is slowly evening out.

McCoy's forearms are lifted up in defense, in between their faces. His arms are shaking as well. Slowly, Kirk releases McCoy's shoulders, and pushes his forearms down. McCoy's face, now lightly covered in a cold sweat, is turned to the side defensively, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"I said to stay away from me," McCoy growls weakly, with hardly any power in his voice now. When Kirk releases his wrists, McCoy slowly opens his eyes, staring with unmasked fear into Kirk's. His entire stance screams that he is waiting for some sort of attack.

Kirk swallows around the sudden choking blockage in his throat. "Please. Let us talk this through," he says softly, after more silence.

McCoy reluctantly parts his lips to speak. But what he had meant to say, Kirk will never know.

"Doctor?" The word spoken by a third party cuts him off, and both Kirk and McCoy turn to see Spock standing a short ways down the hall, looking almost hesitant. Neither of them had heard him approach. Unlike Kirk, McCoy starts at the voice, turning much slower than Kirk did, apprehensively.

"I heard you both quarreling," the Vulcan says by way of explanation, his dark eyes flicking between the two of them until they rest on McCoy. His gaze is very obviously inquiring.

Kirk takes a half step away from McCoy, but edges to the doctor's right side, while Spock is on his left. McCoy is now subtly but effectively sandwiched between them.

"What're you staring at?" McCoy demands, glaring icy daggers at Spock. Spock gives a slight head tilt, taking a step closer. McCoy immediately steps away, keeping his back pressed to the unyielding wall. "Stop!" the doctor snaps, his voice audibly shaking with stress and yes, there is terror as well. Kirk's heart clenches tight at how utterly broken and defeated he sounds.

Spock obeys McCoy's demand, stopping mid-stride. His brow is furrowed elegantly. But he doesn't appear confused, Kirk notices. It's as if Spock is coming across something dreadful, that he has been expecting for a long time. Kirk's confusion and need for an answer grows larger as each tense second passes.

Spock looks at McCoy for a while longer, and McCoy looks back, but not with nearly as much unnerving indifference as Spock. Finally, Kirk's first officer looks gravely back to him. "What has happened?" he asks.

Kirk can feel McCoy's glaring eyes on him now, but the doctor doesn't object, so Kirk says, "Bones has asked me to 'stay away' from him." he glances over at McCoy, who drops his heated gaze to the floor.

Spock turns his gaze back to McCoy, his eyes going colder, though he keeps his tone light and almost mildly curious. "Doctor? You said this to Jim?" Kirk inwardly starts at the lack of formality, but keeps his gaze steady on McCoy, waiting for his answer.

McCoy swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I... I did." He lifts his eyes so that he is only just peering through his lashes at Spock.

Spock takes another step closer, and McCoy scrambles back a step farther in return, giving a light gasp. Spock presses his lips tighter together, and it is clear to Kirk that McCoy's behavior is hurting his first officer just as much as it is hurting him.

"May I inquire as to why?" Spock eventually asks.

"Because that's what I WANT!" McCoy snarls, his hands clenching into trembling fists at his sides.

Kirk and Spock both internally wince as the words are flung at them. The suffocating tightness in Kirk's heart intensifies as this disaster unfolds, and McCoy shows no signs of calming down or letting either of his best friends into his mind.

There is a period of silence, which is only punctuated by McCoy's fast, sharp breaths.

"...But why, Bones?" Kirk's voice cracks on the second word. It sounds as hopeless as he feels. He wants his CMO and best friend back. Where has the Leonard McCoy he knows gone? The answer is floating about in Bones' head, a place damn near impossible to get to when sealed off.

McCoy's heart is slamming repeatedly against his ribs like a caged animal trying to burst free from his chest. Why? Why does this have to happen now? Why are Kirk and Spock being so damn insensitive? Granted, it isn't like they really know what they're doing to McCoy. At least that's what he's been trying to tell himself.

It's all in your head, remember? And that's where they're trying to get to...

McCoy gives a violent shudder as the words ring in his head, pressing his back firmly against the wall behind him to stabilize himself as he begins to grow dizzy, a familiar feeling these days. Since when have I become so helpless? I feel like my legs might give out at any second... The thought glances across his jumbled, panicked thoughts.

He has the nearly overpowering urge to push by Spock, to make a break for his rooms, where he can lock the door and hide, but he is too afraid of the consequences. What consequences, you fool?

The ones that keep you up at night, the ones that make you too sick to eat. The ones that have pushed you away from the ones you cared about. Those ones.

McCoy swallows again, but his mouth is dry. Blood is pounding in his ears. His heart has surely stopped. His breathing, definitely.

"Because... I... y-you..."

"We frighten you?"

McCoy and Kirk both snap their attention to Spock. McCoy is thoroughly appalled. Spock's tone of voice suggests that he is just now clicking the final pieces together. Kirk seems indignant about the results.

"Bones is not scared of us." Kirk's tone is probably meant to be convincing, but he only succeeds in sounding defeated and wary.

McCoy again feels the intense need run. If he doesn't he's going to snap and may even hurt one of them. Not that he'd be able to do much except maybe throw a couple weak punches at best. And then what would they do, if he tried it...? The horrors they could inflict upon him...McCoy shivers involuntarily.

"Jim, Doctor McCoy has shown multiple signs of discomfort, particularly in our presence," Spock insists calmly, at the edge of McCoy's awareness.

"He can no longer maintain prolonged eye contact with us. He flinches at our every movement. He goes through every precaution necessary to avoid us." Spock's eyes, fixed on McCoy, grow darker with each word he speaks, and McCoy's heart pounds painfully, impossibly faster. It's unbearable, with both their eyes resting unswervingly on him. "He rarely eats, nor sleeps. I am fairly certain that humans cannot live long without either. Have you truly not noticed these things about him?"

Kirk ignores Spock's question, turns his conflicted eyes slowly over to McCoy. "Bones... This is all true?" he asks, and he sizes McCoy up, seeming to document everything about his hindered appearance in a different light. Realization is stealing over his face, and McCoy can't bare it. He almost expects Kirk to start laughing at the whole thing. But that's the mind games talking. Kirk doesn't laugh or jeer. Instead he states, rather flatly; "You're ill."

He looks as lost as McCoy feels, which is momentarily off-putting. McCoy shakes his head sharply in response to Kirk, shrinking in on himself a little more, if that were even possible. "No! I'm not ill!" he cries, and even he can hear the hysterical note there in his voice near the end.

When neither Kirk nor Spock say anything, McCoy takes an extreme leap of faith, and stalks forward, aiming to rough past Kirk and book it. Of course, it doesn't work. Kirk isn't so easily pushed around. The captain blocks his way and reaches out, trying to catch McCoy by the arm, but McCoy swiftly backtracks, now standing in the center of the hallway, between these two idiots who don't seem to get what they're doing.

"How long has this been happening?" Kirk asks, his voice strained.

"Approximately since he was retrieved from the Enterprise's current planet of orbit," Spock replies, though the question wasn't directed at him, and Kirk lets him know as much with a hard glare over McCoy's trembling shoulder.

"Please, just let me leave. I don't wanna be here." McCoy firms his stance and his voice as well as he can, raising his eyes to glare coldly at Kirk. When the captain doesn't move, only continues to stare incredulously, McCoy says, in a much smaller voice, "Spock's right, Jim. I don't want to be anywhere near you. Or him."

A thick, stretched out silence follows the uttered words. It doesn't at all help with McCoy's spiked anxiety.

Finally, Kirk spoke, making McCoy start. "We're going back with you."

McCoy flinches. "...What?"

"I said, we're going back with you. Spock and I. We're confronting this right now. It's your choice where this happens, be it right here or in the privacy of your quarters, but I'm not- we're not waiting any longer for you to come out with it. You never will if we don't do this."

"...No."

Kirk leans in, his eyes narrowing. "Yes."

McCoy swallows dryly, looking at Kirk and then at Spock, who looks just as resolute as his captain, though showing it in a tamer fashion. He lets out a shuddering breath, then nods slowly, filled with fearful anticipation. "Fine. Just... please don't make a scene."

"We could tell you the same thing," Kirk mutters, but he makes a gentle gesture of agreement to McCoy's request.

McCoy turns toward Spock, staring warily at him until the Vulcan steps aside, allowing the doctor passage. McCoy dodges around him, his heart giving a painful stutter against his chest. He continues on down the hall at a brisk, uneven pace, not looking behind himself. He knew they would follow him, since both are so adamant about 'dealing with this'.

McCoy hears Kirk's footsteps behind him, and has to fight the chronic desire to turn around and keep an untrusting watch on him. The fact that Spock is there too keeps him from following through. He keeps himself a good five paces ahead of them, however.

After what felt like hours but was only minutes, McCoy reaches his quarters, and opens the door. He says nothing as he steps aside in the hallway to let Kirk and Spock enter first, keeping his gaze down on the floor as he watches their feet disappear into the next room. He follows in behind them and reluctantly shuts the door, making sure to keep as close to his escape route as possible.

A thick, almost intense silence falls upon the three of them. Kirk and Spock are both in the center of the room, facing McCoy side by side. McCoy watches them cautiously. When neither of them do anything, he steps a little further into his own rooms, until he's only a few paces from them, just out of arm's reach.

"What exactly is it that we're 'dealing with' here?" McCoy winces at his own scratchy voice breaking the palpable quiet that hangs in the air.

"You need to talk to us," Kirk says quietly, holding his hands out in a helpless manner. "Please. You've already admitted that there's something wrong, concerning Spock and myself. You don't want to be around us."

McCoy lets out a soft breath, his heartbeat beginning to slow down. Neither of them are trying to hurt him. At the moment.

"Doctor, what happened to you while you were previously being held captive?" Spock inquires softly, when the silence begins to stretch again. The Vulcan raises his eyebrows minutely. "Besides the physical injuries you sustained?"

McCoy's heart clenches, and he presses his mouth into a taut, thin line. He wants to say nothing. But that won't work.

He doesn't want to have to tell them. He doesn't want them to know how useless he's become.

"Bones, please," Kirk implores, stretching his arms out again, only to have McCoy shuffle back an inch. "Do you think we'll hurt you, like they did?"

McCoy smirks, without feeling a shred of humor. "It ain't that simple."

"Then explain it to us, please... We want nothing more than to understand." Kirk's voice is so raw that it takes McCoy slightly off guard, and he doesn't have time to duck out of Kirk's hug around his breakable shoulders. He stiffens up under the pressure of Kirk's arms, staring with wide eyes over Kirk's shoulder, arms hanging uselessly at his sides. Then he begins to thrash, jerking away and shoving at Kirk's arms, but no matter his attempts, he cannot pull free, and so he soon gives up.

McCoy waits in a petrified state until Kirk slides his arms away, keeping his wide hands clasped at McCoy's shoulders. He looks McCoy in the eyes and a forced smile cuts itself into his face. He pats McCoy's shoulders gently. "See? It's alright." His voice is similar to how one would speak to a spooked or wounded animal. It both comforted and shamed McCoy.

The doctor stares wide eyed at Kirk, then glances over at Spock, who is still remains standing where he was. The Vulcan tilts his head, his face calm and open. There is no mocking glint in his eyes. He looks back at Kirk. There is no jeering grin on his face, only a sad smile.

The open innocence of their faces feels so alien to McCoy that he has no clue what to feel. What is he supposed to feel besides fear and apprehension? Those emotions have been burned deeply into him.

"I miss you, Bones," Kirk says tenderly, cutting into the dark, swirling depths of McCoy's mind, only serving to further confuse him.

McCoy's gaze refocuses as he looks back up at Kirk's honest, hazel eyes, which aren't filled with gleeful spite like they have been for so long in McCoy's eyes.

"I... I miss you too," McCoy says hesitantly, and its a shocking jolt to realize that he means it. He misses Kirk. He misses Spock.

He can't even remember why, but he has missed them, and very much so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to post the rest of the finished chapters that I have. Two more chapters after this one are already written, and then I have to start back up from scratch. Ackk


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

Spock and Kirk walked side by side in perfect synchronization, both heading for the galley to eat and relax together some after the long hours of their shift were over. Thankfully nothing important had popped up since McCoy's return to the Enterprise, and hopefully it would stay that way, so that Kirk could keep his attention focused wholly on his ailed friend while it was needed.

Kirk glanced sideways at his first officer, for what had to be the tenth time at least since they left the bridge. Spock seemed sort of troubled. He was oddly quiet, and his usually aware gaze was slightly unfocused as he was lost in some sort of thought.

Kirk had made idle comments on how boring the shift was, and how much better McCoy was getting and how lucky they were, to which Spock would usually reply with the Vulcan version of elated agreement or have an opinion of his own on the matter, giving his supportive outlook on McCoy's recovery. But today he'd simply given a tight nod, remaining silent.

Kirk glanced at Spock again. He couldn't take the silence anymore, and was about to grab onto Spock's upper arm, halt him in his tracks and ask him what the heck was the matter with him when Spock finally cast his gaze towards his captain, brow furrowed ever so slightly. Kirk started.

"Captain, that is the thirteenth time you have glanced at me. May I ask if something troubling you?"

Well then. More than ten times.

Kirk nearly stumbled, but regained his composure within a second. He gave a light shrug of his shoulders in reply, shoving some of Spock's vagueness back in his face with the gesture. This bothered Spock, and Kirk was damn well satisfied with that.

The two of them entered the galley, heading over to the food replicators. Kirk slid in his tray and ordered his meal, while Spock looked on silently, hands held together a little tighter than usual behind his back, a troubled light in his eyes.

"Captain?" the Vulcan addressed Kirk inquiringly, cocking his head as Kirk turned to face him, food tray now in his hands.

"Come, Spock," he said, heading over to a more quiet part of the galley without checking to see if Spock was following. The commander did, leaving the replicators behind.

The Vulcan sat himself across from Kirk, folding his hands together on the table, continuing to stare questioningly at his captain.

Kirk looked back, lips pursed, before speaking. "Spock, you've been spaced out all morning. Care to tell me what's going through that Vulcan head of yours?"

Spock stared blankly into hazel eyes, on the outside having no reaction to the accusation, but on the inside, images skittered across his mind; McCoy's hands, clutching together, knuckles white with the force. Eyes flashing with distrust as he looked at Kirk and Spock. The near-flinches at almost every movement, almost unnoticeable to the human eye. The hesitance he showed whenever he said something to either of them.

The doctor was different, in many subtle ways that Kirk perhaps had yet to notice.

"Spock?"

Kirk's worried voice pulled him back to reality, and Spock blinked, eyes clearing. He looked at his captain again. Kirk's eyes were searching his face, waiting for an answer.

"Do you find anything about the doctor to be different?" Spock asked bluntly, getting right to the point.

Kirk pressed his lips together for a moment. "Yes, of course. He was nearly... tortured to death two weeks ago, of course he's a little different. He's still extremely tired and probably won't be able to do much for a small while."

Spock supposed that made some sense. "Perhaps... I am over examining things," he considered aloud, unlacing his fingers and placing his hands in his lap.

"Why, Spock, do you miss arguing with Bones?" Kirk asked playfully, resting his chin in an open palm and raising one blond eyebrow.

Spock frowned, a slight downturn of the corners of his thin lips. "I would prefer the term 'debate', Captain. In truth, I find them to be quite stimulating."

Spock wouldn't admit it, but he did miss them, very much.

"I miss them too," Kirk said as if in reply to what Spock had left unspoken, a minute smirk on his face. "Don't worry, we'll be seeing too much of the man's face soon enough."

Spock nodded, deciding to leave the situation be, for the time being. He would join his captain in fully appreciating having McCoy back.

"Leave me be, I can get to my rooms fine on my own," McCoy growls, glaring icy blue daggers at Christine, arms crossed tightly and defiantly. She stands in front of him, in a similar position, her feet planted firmly apart. The only difference is that she doesn't seem to be struggling to maintain the strong upright position, like McCoy is.

"You shake like a leaf just from taking a few measly steps, and you think I'm not going to at least walk you to yo-"

"I don't think so, I know so, cause I c'n do it on my own. Lord, I've been on my feet for days, you think I haven't recovered enough to walk?" McCoy heaves in a deep, raspy breath, then releases it, running faintly trembling fingers through his hair in an effort to calm down. Christine sags a little, staring exasperatedly at him with wide blue eyes.

Today was supposed to be the day McCoy has been wanting and looking forward to. McCoy was being released from Sickbay, now able to go wherever he pleased, as long as he gets some required and much needed rest, keeps up eating full meals, and does not over exert himself.

After getting everything cleared away, McCoy had thrown his legs off the side of the biobed in his excitement, and pushed himself to a stand. He'd soon relized he really shouldn't have dome that, wilting back against the biobed and clutching the ledge of it hard, until the violent dizzy spell that had suddenly assaulted him faded to a dull throb.

Now he stands just inside of Sickbay, with Christine blocking the doorway thinking she can still do what she wants with him, and it makes McCoy feel goddamn helpless. The frustration of it was so overwhelming it would probably bring tears to his eyes if he wasn't so dignified.

"I can walk," he snaps, attempting to go around her. She lets him slip by, but makes a half pirouette in the doorway and loops an arm around his back, holding him in place when he starts to shuffle down the hall. He tries half-heartedly to pull away, already knowing that he doesn't have the energy nor the skill to do so successfully, especially when the woman was determined.

He gives an annoyed little groan, ready to bark at her again. Though secretly, her sudden closeness and female softness is an unexpected comfort that he tentatively welcomes. It's the closest he's been to anyone since his return to the Enterprise, as it were.

"Leonard, hang on a sec," Christine commands, turning him to face her. He looks down at her, a pout jutting his lower lip slightly outwards as his brows furrow.

"What? Don't you want me to get myself some more bed rest?" he mutters. Christine rolls her eyes.

"I just want to make sure you're completely fine to get there on your own."

"Mother of all that's... I am completely fine, or have you not been taking care of my properly, nurse?" McCoy grinds out, keeping his temper just at bay. "I can't believe I'm saying this but I'm sick of this place right now. I just wanna leave and have a room to myself. And you've seen me walk, and I'm okay. So may I go?"

Christine idly straightens out his shirt sleeves. "...Yes, you can go. Just keep us posted, alright? And get something to eat later today. For me."

McCoy shifts uncomfortably at the mention of eating, but gives a firm nod of affirmation to try and cover it up.

"Good. Now be on your way," Christine smiles softly and takes a step back, allowing McCoy some space in the hall. The doctor nods again with a 'thank you' and starts the trek to his quarters, a deep, momentary relief at finally being alone coursing through him like a river.

In the morning, Kirk had breakfast, then went straight to Sickbay in hopes of visiting McCoy. As he'd arrived, Chapel had given him a knowing grin and a wave, and told him that McCoy had officially 'evacuated the premises'. She'd also told him to leave the doctor be, and that he was supposed to continue resting for the morning.

"And don't you pester him," Chapel had exclaimed as she cleaned up the area around McCoy's biobed. "He'll come to you when he's ready to be social. I'm not saying don't visit him, you certainly should, but just let him have his space."

Kirk had reluctantly nodded in understanding, leaving soon after to hunt for Spock and tell him the fantastic news.

McCoy sits on the edge of his bed, face held tight in between his hands. He stares blankly down at the floor.

This is a disaster. This is a total disaster. He's only got a few days to sort himself, before he gets back to running Sickbay. No way will he be able to do this. Ever since the Enterprise had to retreat from it's investigation of the unnamed planet, they've been ordered to remain in orbit, and await their next command. Kirk had kept him updated on everything he's been missing while confined to Sickbay, which McCoy supposes was one upside to the almost daily visits.

With nothing really going on, Kirk didn't have much to be distracted by. He'd been able to dip out of shifts to check on McCoy. What will happen when McCoy gets back to work? He does miss having a job too do, as it would be a most helpful distraction, but what scares him nearly witless is that he can no longer feel the motivation to save and cure people. He almost doesn't even care anymore, forgets why he did in the first place, and a huge part of him is screaming that that is wrong, wrong, wrong.

He'd also rather not have his co-workers witness one of his so called episodes, which range from simply drifting out of focus and minimal shaking to not being able to go near anyone, having to hold back screaming from the slightest unwanted contact. He can only imagine how bad it would be if he broke down in the presence of Jim or Spock. It would be a mess, a catastrophe.

McCoy takes a shuttering breath. What is he even scared of anymore? Through all of that pain, he'd lost Jim and Spock over and over again, which had in and of itself drove him close to insane, but they'd also hurt him. As much as he tells himself it wasn't real, that it was just some alien life form taking the shapes of his best friends and using that against him to make it hurt worse, he still can't completely convince himself that Jim and Spock are... okay. His memories are too fresh, have been moved around too much, it went on too long, it was so excruciating...

Stop thinking. McCoy abruptly stands as goosebumps begin to rise along his arms, and begins to pace the room again. Slow, unsteady strides with short breaks in between when the constant vertigo rushing through his head becomes too staggering. His stomach snarls angrily at him, a plain reminder of the last time he actually ate, but he ignores it, continuing his broken pacing. Just the mere thought of putting food in his mouth makes him want to hurl.

They expect him to eat, ha. Even considering eating, biting into something, had vivid memories churning upwards, bursting up in front of his eyes, clogging his throat... Oh hell.

Almost shocked at his body's strong reaction, but knowing what's coming, McCoy spins around and propels himself towards the bathroom door, and he just misses smashing into it as it detects him and slides open, practically collapsing onto the toilet bowl as he is violently sick. There isn't much to throw up, most of it is stomach acid, and burns coming out. He coughs fiercely, sucking in air before spitting multiple times.

Straightening up weakly, he leans heavily with one arm on the rim as he wipes his mouth with his free hand. A couple queasy minutes pass before an aftershock of nausea hits him and he lurches forward again, dry heaving into the toilet bowl. Tears fall down his cheeks from the strain and lack of oxygen, saliva drips from his lower lip, and his face feels too hot.

When the heaving passes and he can breathe again, McCoy takes in air with harsh gulps that die down to hitched breaths as he slides off the bowl and onto his haunches, then slumps down until he's flat on his back. He curls up onto his side, crossing his arms tight against his chest. The floor feels cold. It's nice. McCoy angles his head faintly upwards, staring at the closed bathroom door, eyes glazed with exhaustion.

Definitely no food.

Mentally he feels a little better, like some of his anguish has left him along with his bile. Like he let some of his feelings out, and cleansed himself. But the effort it forced onto him left him barely able to move a muscle. He doesn't even consider attempting to stand, he's completely numb.

His stomach aches, and badly. He tries not to think about it, sifts around for something to distract himself with. It's hard to find something safe. He ends up listing every damn medicine he knows in alphabetical order, then going over it, then moving on to medical equipment, medical procedures, medical abbreviations...

He falls asleep like that, slowly fading out of reality. When he wakes later that day, he picks himself up and carries himself painstakingly to his bed, dropping down onto it. And that's where he stays for the rest of the day, and the day after that.

Kirk has been in an increasingly foul mood. One reason being there is nothing to do. For over a week now he has been awaiting the Federation's orders, and still none have come. He wants to move on to something else, and has even tried sending polite complaints, which were just as politely ignored. The Federation know what went down on the planet, what happened to his CMO, but simply do not want to leave it be, and are perhaps considering a course of action. In all honesty, being stuck in the orbit around the planet that thrives with such savagery- McCoy being the cold hard evidence -makes the captain acutely uncomfortable. Maybe he's been thinking too hard about it, but that's how he feels, and it's something he can't shake.

This situation however is only the secondary annoyance, as it is failing to distract him from the fact that he hasn't seen Bones all week. And Kirk knows for a fact that the doctor has been out and about. McCoy is obviously avoiding him, and quite frankly it hurts Kirk's feelings. He's tried visiting McCoy's room, and he's checked in on Sickbay more times than he can count.

When he'd asked, Chapel had told him that McCoy still wasn't able to fully take on his job yet, and only sometimes came around. When he'd asked, Spock had told him that he hasn't seen McCoy at all. Kirk can see that his first officer is worried, and that makes himself worried.

Sure, he'd been happy to have time off and visit McCoy while he was in Sickbay, but now he isn't even sure what the doctor has been doing with himself all these days. Probably nothing of note, but it still bothers him.

The captain exhales sharply as he makes his way to McCoy's room, pondering over his absence along the way. It wasn't like he'd been visiting the doctor three times a day. He'd kept some distance as nurse Chapel had advised, and only made three legitimate trips throughout the span of seven days.

He hasn't a single clue as to why McCoy wouldn't want to see him. Surely it could be a coincidence, but somehow...

"Bones?" Kirk exclaims sharply, stopping mid-step as he stares incredulously at McCoy, who is standing down the hall, mere feet away from the door to his quarters, a mortified look of realization slowly stealing over his face as he freezes in his wobbly tracks. The two of them make eye contact. Kirk's gaze is questioning while McCoy's is fearful. In fact, he looks horrified, like he's been caught in some shameful act.

"Bones, you're..." Okay? What is Kirk supposed to say? It's obvious between both of them that McCoy hasn't wanted to see him, ever, since he's been released, and it's like an electric charge of tension is jumping between them as they face each other off for what was only a few moments but felt like ages. His emotions change from surprise to delight to irritation much too quickly. Kirk stares into McCoy's-still too hollow-eyes.

Finally, the captain takes a cautious step forward, as if he's afraid to scare McCoy off, but it seems that the doctor is rooted in place, blue eyes still wide, panic still alight in them. The doctor's shoulders hunch inwards and his hands clench together as Kirk draws closer, until they are a mere couple feet apart.

"K... Jim, I haven't seen you in days!" McCoy exclaims with a nervous chuckle as Kirk approaches, shuffling his feet in a way that edges him away from Kirk.

Kirk scrutinizes him, with a crinkled brow. He's acting... strange. Perhaps he feels guilty. "And why do you think that is?" he asks rhetorically, with a mixture of annoyance and hurt his voice. "You've been on your feet for days and you didn't even think that maybe your best friend would want to see you sometime?"

McCoy swallows, looking like he wants to break eye contact if the shifty blue orbs of his eyes are any indication. "M'sorry. I've been quite... quite busy catching up on work and getting healthy both at once, y'know?"

There's a substantial amount of sincerity in the doctor's voice, that which deteriorates most of Kirk's unhappiness towards him, and the shorter of the two reaches up after a short pause to clasp both his hands around McCoy's shoulders, a smile slowly growing on his lips.

"In that case, I understand. I've really missed seeing you on the bridge, Bones. Wow..." a frown quickly replaces Kirk's smile as he feels the way McCoy's shoulder blades are jutting from his skin. "Talk about an ironic nickname, when was the last time you ate something?"

McCoy finally looks away. "Uh, y-yesterday evening..." Well now, the way he says it makes it seem like eating is a chore.

Kirk's eyebrows raise. "You should probably get some food in you, before you disappear. Why don't you come to the galley with me, and we can catch up on- things? I was going to head there anyway," Kirk invites, gesturing down the hall. His annoyance has completely evaporated by now, and he just wants to spend all the time that he can with McCoy, ask him about everything he's been meaning to, mostly how he's been doing outside of Sickbay.

Secretly, seeing McCoy walk around on his own after what he went through makes Kirk want to keep a constant, protective watch at the doctor's side, but that would never happen in a billion years if McCoy had a say in it.

McCoy's face goes a little white, and hesitates for an awkwardly long time before slowly nodding his head. "Alright." The word catches a little in his throat.

Kirk grins eagerly, taking the lead as he starts down the hall again. "Wonderful."

McCoy follows behind, a pained look sliding onto his face when the captain's back is turned to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! So while I've now posted about half of the written portions of this story to ao3, I still haven't continued writing it since October 2015, so I'm going to keep the rest unposted until I've written a new chapter. I just need the motivation so bad.


	6. Chapter 5

McCoy stares into Kirk's eyes for quite some time, his breaths shallow as he tries to make sense of his feelings. He watches the emotions flitting through his captain's eyes, ranging all the way from elated to depressed, each one passing across the hazel orbs in less than a second.

The heavy hands on both of McCoy's shoulders seem to suddenly grow heavier and emit a malicious intent as he is pulled back into reality by Kirk's gentle imploring voice.

"Bones."

McCoy blinks, his gaze gradually refocusing on everything else outside of Kirk's eyes, including Spock, who stands in the same spot and watches him patiently. McCoy tenses up again, shrugging Kirk's now lax hands off of his shoulders and taking a step away, lowering his own eyes to the floor. He still feels anger boiling inside of him, anger towards these two, who have hurt him so much. At least, that's what those creatures had wanted it to seem like. Using his friends' appearances, voices and personalities, to make it all feel so realistic...

But it hadn't been them. Kirk and Spock are innocent, and McCoy now understands the confusion, but how is he supposed to simply forget his experience? When he looks at these two, he remembers pain and fear. He feels... hatred. Maybe not specifically for them, but when he sees them, he feels sick with hatred.

They're still waiting for him... They must be getting impatient with McCoy, while he is having this war inside of his head, this war of memories, the fuzzier ones safe and warm, the other, sharper ones completely the opposite of that.

"They tortured me down there," McCoy says quietly, almost to himself, barely able to look at them as he utters it.

Kirk flinches, but he nods. "Yes, we know. We saw what they inflicted on you," he says sympathetically. McCoy clenches his teeth and his fists. They are misunderstanding him, but he doesn't want to have to explain this, damnit.

"Not like that," McCoy snaps. "I know that you saw the physical wounds. Everyone saw them. What I'm talking about is... a ps-psychological kind of torture."

Kirk's head tilts ever so slightly, eyes narrowing in confusion. "What do you mean? They..."

"Did they enter your mind in some way, doctor?" Spock implies, his voice more gentle than usual. The half Vulcan has moved closer, now only a stride or two behind Kirk's right shoulder.

McCoy flinches, lowering his head and covering his eyes with one hand, in shame. "Yes..."

It seems that a great, bright light has just been flicked on in Spock's mind, and Kirk's face is slowly morphing into horrified realization next to him.

McCoy lets out a harsh breath, still covering my eyes, but he suddenly has to shoot out a hand and lean against the wall behind him, trying desperately to calm the pounding organ confined in his rib cage, both he and it desperate to escape.

"And that's why..." Kirk trails off, his voice filled with quiet devastation.

"That is why you seem to avoid us. Fear us," Spock fills in, his own tone going impossibly softer, his brown eyes dark as he gazes at McCoy. "They manipulated you, Leonard."

McCoy's eyes snap up to lock on Spock's. Hearing the informal, more personal name come from the first officer is surprising, to say the least. It does manage to soothe him, however. It makes everything seem more real, and less a jumble of heated, suppressed memories. Fake Spock and Fake Kirk had never spoken his name during those horrible few days. McCoy straightens up a little, sliding his hand away from the support of the wall. He decides to remain silent, and assess his two crew mates' feelings on this.

Kirk is staring at Spock with a new kind of shock. "You think they were able to- what, impersonate us in some way?" he inquires doubtfully.

"It is quite extraordinary what some species are capable of in this galaxy," Spock replies thoughtfully, "especially considering that the type which we encountered was unknown to us."

"Or any being in the Federation, for that matter," Kirk says in agreement. "We did come into literal contact with them, maybe they gathered some sort of information, unbeknownst to us," Kirk murmurs, turning his eyes back to McCoy, who is struggling for the proper words to say.

The pair of them seem to notice the way that the doctor wavers, both physically and mentally, on the spot, and they each move towards him protectively, on instinct. Kirk reaches a hand out, resting his fingertips on McCoy's upper arm, a bare minimum of contact. McCoy flinches at first, but finds that he appreciates it, and gazes at Kirk thankfully.

"Why don't you come and sit down? You'll be more comfortable that way," Kirk suggests, gesturing with his other hand towards McCoy's bed. McCoy hesitates, and then nods slowly, feeling calmer as he strides across the room and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs, partly to remove the sweat clamming up his palms, partly to fidget nervously. Kirk and Spock follow after him, taking the only two chairs that are in the room and bringing them in front of where McCoy is seated, settling down with him.

The tension between them seems to break in this moment, and the only thing left buzzing in each of their heads is McCoy's raw, now-exposed root of torment. The planet that they are still orbiting, Kirk thinks regretfully, rubbing a hand across his chin.

McCoy's head and shoulders are slumped, and he is staring wearily at his knees, which are subtly bouncing. When Kirk glances down he sees McCoy's feet rolling up onto their toes and then falling flat again, rhythmically. He wants to smile at the familiarity of it, but he can't find it in him to feel very happy at all.

"Tell us whatever you need to. If something makes you too uncomfortable, you don't have to share it," Kirk speaks after a bout of silence, staring openly into McCoy's face, trying to convey his reassurance and acceptance of everything and anything that he might reveal.

McCoy nods again at his own lap, his hands going still. Kirk glances at Spock, who is keeping his gaze leveled at McCoy, his eyes focused and determined. Kirk is grateful to have the half Vulcan at his side in this horrible time.

"Well..." McCoy's voice comes out scratchy, and he stops to swallow before continuing. "First off, I remember almost everything that happened to me physically." he smiles cynically, a cracked mar across his sallow face. "When they chose to experiment on my body instead of on my mind, I would always be so grateful. It's pathetic to think that, but I was. I would even smile about it."

Kirk feels a shiver course down his spine at those words. He opens his mouth to interject, to tell McCoy that he is the most dignified man he's ever known and ever will know, but Spock sends him a meaningful look, and he closes his mouth again, allowing his CMO to carry on.

McCoy looks up at them both, his eyes haunted and glazed over with a vision of the past. "I know I was down there for seven days, but it felt like months each time that they toyed with my brain. It was like they could slow down time. It was like they could turn each minute into an entire day."

His voice is becoming higher and more distressed with each word, but neither Kirk nor Spock try to clam him down again. He needs to say these things. It is healthy, and it is also a good sign that he is finally revealing these things at all, instead of hiding them up in his mind, where they would have only continued to fester and infect.

"Sometimes... They would pretend to be you, Spock," McCoy whispers this, but Spock can hear it perfectly well.

Spock tilts his head encouragingly when McCoy falters over his words and worriedly looks at the Vulcan. Kirk realizes with a jolt that McCoy is afraid that Spock might try and hurt him if he says anything against him. The thought of Spock hurting McCoy is simply ludicrous to Kirk, but McCoy's mind has been addled so badly that the captain is not surprised at McCoy's concern for long.

McCoy takes a deep breath and appears to be steeling himself. "They made you do really... bad things. To me."

"Like what?" Kirk asks desperately, wanting to know so that he can prove to McCoy that Spock would never actually do whatever it was. McCoy winces, sinking into himself, and Kirk immediately feels awful for his outburst.

"Bad things... Things that I'm not even sure Vulcans are actually capable of. I think half of it was just things that I feared that Spock might be able to do. And somehow they just knew... and..." McCoy shakes his head, looking away again. Kirk knows he won't be speaking about the prosthetic Spock anymore. It must have been too agonizing to relive.

"What about me?" Kirk asks heavily, not wanting to know, but needing to at the same time.

McCoy's eyes dart back to Kirk, and they spark with a momentary panic before dying down again. Kirk feels his stomach drop, and almost has to look away himself, but he has to appear calm and composed so that McCoy can remain at ease.

"You did... They made you do bad things as well. They made you hate me, walk over me, treat me like... like you'd forgotten all about what we've been through together."

Kirk's chest squeezes up painfully, and he quickly assesses Spock again. The Vulcan looks almost offended at what McCoy was saying.

McCoy closes his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry. I'm pathetic."

Kirk internally winces at the unpleasant word. He wishes McCoy would stop saying it.

"You are not, doctor," Spock says quietly, his jaw clenched and slightly ticking. That word seems to be bothering him too.

McCoy reveals his pale blue orbs again. "It wasn't only you two either. They knew that I can't stand the thought of being out there," he lifts a hand and pints shakily towards a wall of his quarters. "They knew who Joanna was," he all but whispers, lowering his hand to his lap again. "They took my worst psychological fears and made them into a synthetic reality," he says dully, as if Spock hadn't even spoken. "Now I can't even tell which of my memories are even real. How can I be of any use to the Enterprise or its crew, stuck in a state like this."

"Bones!" Kirk exclaims in dismay.

"What?"

Kirk wants to ask him how he can say such a thing, but the reason is obvious. McCoy is damaged, and possibly beyond repair... How are they going to fix him? Kirk despairs silently in his chair.

"Doctor, you do realize that your memories have been toyed with, correct?" Spock suddenly asks, and Kirk looks over at him inquisitively.

"Yeah Spock, m'not an idiot," McCoy growls, looking at the first officer questioningly for a moment before letting out a sharp 'tsk'. "You just don't understand. It's more complicated than that. You can't just move and delete memories like files on a computer..."

Spock's eyes harden with resolve before McCoy is even finished talking. "Actually, I do quite understand. You should know this well, Leonard," he says in a flatly serious tone.

McCoy stiffens up, staring at Spock through his lashes, half defiant, half fearful.

Kirk glances nervously at Spock, wondering just where he is going with this. "Now, Spock..." he begins to warn, but Spock ignores him.

"I possess the ability to put thoughts and memories into the minds of others, as well as clearing confusion such as yours from them. Your mind is truly no exception." Spock pauses meaningfully. Kirk parts his lips in surprise, Spock's implication finally dawning on him.

McCoy appears to have clicked the pieces together himself, and he swiftly jolts away, terror flashing across his features. "Are you talkin' about mind melding?" he asks faintly.

Spock nods in an almost cautious manner. "If you allowed my help... I may be capable of reversing most of the psychological damage to your mind-"

"NO!" McCoy snarls, making Kirk jump in his seat. Spock however, remains totally composed, as if he had expected this exact reaction if not worse. Not that the Vulcan would have flinched, in any case.

"Leonard, please remain calm," is all he says.

Kirk holds his breath and watches as McCoy's shoulders slowly relax again, and the elder man lets out a gusty sigh of exhaustion. "Sorry, sorry... I just... no, I can't do that, Spock."

"There is not a chance in the universe that I would ever bring harm to you," Spock says, his eyes growing slightly darker, softened with a sadness that he can never show.

McCoy lowers his head, in what seems like shame. "I realize that," he whispers in a pained voice, quiet to the point where Kirk has to lean in, "but I can't do that. I mean it. I can't."

"Very well," Spock begins, but Kirk interrupts him, unable to bear being silent any longer.

"We would never force you to do anything, Bones," he says, reaching out to clasp McCoy's shoulder, but thinking better of it the moment McCoy's panicked eyes lock with his extended arm. Kirk reaches into thin air for a moment, before dropping his arm back onto his own lap, pain panging through his heart.

You used to follow me anywhere, Bones, Kirk thought in the silence that descended again. Will we ever go back to that now, or is it too late? Why was I so blind to see this? Why did Spock not speak his concerns to me?

Kirk glances sideways at his first officer, who remains sitting completely still and composed. The captain feels a sudden, blazing anger at the Vulcan boil up his spine and into his throat, burning his tongue like lava.

Why did you remain silent?

McCoy can hardly believe that he's doing this. Telling them what happened. His two closest friends, whom he still can't even bring himself to trust.

As if they don't already know. They were there, watching you break... a darker part of McCoy's brain whispers, a part that isn't him, but was placed there by his torturers. He knows now. He knows better.

I'm telling them because they're real, he responds firmly and the darker place goes quiet for the moment.

And, he finds that he actually believes himself this time, as he looks upon them both, and as they look upon him, with faces free of malice or ill intent.

"I know that, Jim," McCoy finally replies, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around himself. He's always so cold these days. A problem that came with not being able to eat. Frankly, that's a problem that he doesn't want to talk to anyone about right now. So he doesn't bring it up.

Jim, for some reason, looks delighted the moment McCoy says his name.

"I just can't really... I can't really go back to how things used to be." And just like that, the delight is gone. McCoy swallows. "Not yet," he adds in tentatively, an attempt to satisfy his captain, although Kirk still remains looking deeply troubled.

Another bout of silence lapses over them, as McCoy considers what it would be like to go back to 'the way things were'. To work as the Chief Medical Officer again.

McCoy starts as Spock's voice suddenly cuts into his thoughts. He hadn't by any means forgotten that the Vulcan was there, but he had seldom spoken, except to suggest a mind meld, and then on McCoy had pointedly kept his eyes off of him.

"I understand that it brings you great discomfort, Doctor, but will you perhaps consider my suggestion?"

McCoy can't bring himself to look at Spock. He bites at the dry, peeling skin on his bottom lip for a few moments before responding. "I... don't think so, Spock."

Spock remains quiet, and McCoy is not sure whether that is a relief or not.

"I just- I've got a request," McCoy murmurs, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. The two of them perk up attentively. Kirk sitting up straighter, his expression imploring, and Spock tilting his head, an angled eyebrow twitching ever so slightly higher.

McCoy looks up and stares at them both. "Would you please, for my sake, just keep your distance when I ask you to?" He doesn't mean for his tone of voice to become quite so harsh, but what Kirk had done earlier was horrifying, and he definitely doesn't want it happening again.

Kirk's eyes widen, and he opens and closes his mouth silently, then looks away for a moment, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Of course. Most definitely, Bones."

"Most definitely," Spock agrees, nodding minutely.

McCoy can tell that they are both unhappy with the situation, but he has to make it known to them. He forces a weak smile, thankful for their co-operation for once. "Thank you."

Kirk and Spock both seem to sense that this is all that McCoy will be wanting to tell them tonight. They both get up and bid him farewell, turning and heading for the door.

"Oh, and one more thing," McCoy calls hesitantly. They both turn to look at him. "Don't mention this to Christine or Doctor M'Benga."

When captain and first officer silently exit McCoy's quarters, Kirk can't help feeling as if that CMO of his is leaving something, or maybe more than something, out. He never pushed him about it however, only listened and learned, and Spock did the same. McCoy will open up at his own pace, Kirk assures himself, and he will be there to support him, no matter what.

It's horrible that he has been roaming around in such a bad state for so long... He should have gotten help as soon as possible. Kirk glances sideways at Spock as he thinks this, his jaw tightening.

They are completely silent all the way down the hall and to the turbolift, but once they enter, Spock turns to him, seeming almost wary.

"Captain, is there something that is troubling you?" he asks casually.

Kirk immediately bites down on the bait, his eyes locking with Spock's. "Can you really ask that question after what just happened? How long have you suspected that something was wrong with Bones?" he demands, his eyes narrowing as he regards his first officer from one side of the turbolift.

Spock blinks, his mouth tightening into a firm line. "...Not long after he was discharged from sickbay, Captain."

Kirk splutters. "That long ago? Spock, why didn't you mention it to me?"

A very minuscule crease forms between Spock's eyebrows. "Because I did not feel that it needed mentioning. It was Doctor's McCoy's business, not my own. I had no reason to pry."

"It wouldn't have been prying if you had only told me!" Kirk exclaims, anger fueling him up. "Now look what it's done to him! He can't even look at us!"

"Jim... I suspected that McCoy would not want for us to press him on the matter. And It is obvious that I was correct in that assumption."

"That's not the issue right now!" Kirk all but howls at his first officer. He can feel his heart starting to pick up speed, so he forces himself to calm down, taking a few deep breaths. He turns away from Spock, unable to look at him anymore. Spock does not say anything in return.

When the turbolift doors open, there are a couple of ensigns standing waiting on the other side, bright-eyed and conversing casually, but once they see Spock and Kirk, they both look at them curiously. Kirk veers around them and takes long strides down the hallway, heading towards the bridge. He knows that Spock is following after him. Their shifts will be starting soon.

"Captain," he hears the Vulcan call, but he ignores it the first time.

"Captain."

Kirk stops just outside of the bridge, and looks at Spock, who halts next to him. "Save it," Kirk snaps. "We have work to do right now."

Spock opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it again and nods stiffly. "Yes, Captain."

Without missing a beat, Kirk turns away again and enters the bridge, although he sags a bit as he does, frowning deeply.


End file.
